


Just Take A Look

by kiyala



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Mirror Sex, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4748630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Kasamatsu notices the full-length mirror in Kise's bedroom, he can't <i>stop</i> noticing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Take A Look

There's a full-length mirror in Ryouta's bedroom. It's right beside the closet and the first time Yukio notices it, he imagines Ryouta trying out outfits before wearing them to university that day. The very thought fills him with irritation at first, but he's learned to recognise the feeling now. He feels it whenever Ryouta does something particularly carefree, or when Yukio isn't prepared to deal with how attractive Ryouta truly is. It's a common enough feeling, just for the second reason alone. It doesn't escape Yukio that he's dating a model—a _popular_ model, at that—and so it's only natural, he supposes, to be blown away by just how attractive he is on a daily basis. 

Which brings Yukio back to the mirror. It makes sense that Ryouta would want to see how an outfit looks on him before he wears it out. makes perfect sense for it to be there, but the thing is, once he notices it, Yukio can't really _stop_. It's always right there on Ryouta's wall and sometimes, when they're pulling each other into bed, he'll glance up and catch a glimpse of them, tangled limbs and disheveled clothes. He doesn't know why it makes him want to press Ryouta into the bed that much harder, kissing and biting at his lips. Ryouta is clearly pleased, kissing back. He wraps his legs around Yukio's waist, arms around his shoulders. 

"I'm not sure what's gotten into you," Ryouta murmurs, tilting his head back as Yukio kisses down his neck. He doesn't sound like he minds at all.

Yukio bites down on the warm, sensitive skin and he can feel Ryouta's full-bodied shudder, he can feel the low moan as it starts in Ryouta's chest and comes out of his throat. Ryouta is on his back, their bodies pressed together, and Yukio hazily thinks that they probably look good together this way. 

"Fuck," he gasps, his hips jerking against Ryouta before he can stop himself. 

"I love when you're like this," Ryouta murmurs with a smile. "I feel so wanted."

"Shut up," Yukio mutters, because he _always_ wants Ryouta. Even when he's being annoying—or maybe even more so then. He sits up, undoing the front of Ryouta's pants. He can see the mirror out of the corner of his eyes but it's not at the right angle to see anything, even if he looks. "Come on, hurry up."

Ryouta laughs softly, helping Yukio up so they can get undressed. He fingers Yukio open slowly, smiling fondly up at him the entire time. Yukio rides him hard, hands splayed out on his chest for support. Ryouta's hands are warm on his body, gentle as they roam across his skin but firm as they take hold of Yukio's hips, pulling him down into each thrust. 

Yukio is vocal in bed; not quite as much as Ryouta is when he's the one being fucked, but he knows that Ryouta likes to hear him. It's been a long time since he's stopped pretending not to care about how much Ryouta likes the things he does. He cries out loudly as he comes, with Ryouta's fingers digging into his hips, not even needing to touch his cock. 

He's boneless afterwards, content to lie in Ryouta's arms and be cuddled. He's happy to nuzzle into the crook of Ryouta's neck, long fingers stroking through his short, spiky hair. 

Even through the pleasant haze that's settled over him, he can tell that Ryouta is thinking. He's sharing Yukio's pillow but his gaze is faraway. Yukio follows it curiously, swallowing hard when he realises that Ryouta is looking at his mirror. 

Ryouta looks down at him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Yukio can _see_ the plan forming in his eyes, but he doesn't dare ask. Not yet. Not when he'll probably find out himself, soon enough. 

 

* * *

   


It doesn't come up for a while, even though Yukio is just _waiting_ for something to happen. 

They have date night once a week, separate to all the other time that they spend together. Date night is for home-cooked meals—usually prepared by Yukio so they're actually edible—and for spending time together. It feels a little domestic, but Yukio keeps that to himself, because he knows that Ryouta is free-spirited. They see each other regularly enough and yeah, they're dating and Ryouta will say as much to anyone who asks, but Yukio has avoided using the word _boyfriend_ , has carefully avoided saying or doing anything that will make Ryouta start to feel like he's being weighed down. 

It's hard sometimes, when Ryouta is sitting on the couch, watching with anticipation as Yukio brings their bowls of food over so they can eat with their shoulders leaning against each other, the room dark except for the light of the TV. They've quickly learned that watching basketball matches while eating only gets them too excited and too invested to remember their food, so they stick with nature documentaries, the sound turned down so low that they can barely hear the narrator, letting the pictures flash across the screen as they talk to each other.

Date night usually means sex, because there's only so long they can casually be touching each other until it turns deliberate. Yukio expects Ryouta to make his move then, or to at least bring it up somehow. He braces himself, but Yukio doesn't mention mirrors at all. 

They do end up making out on the couch, though, a while after they've finished dinner. Ryouta sinks to his knees, getting comfortable between Yukio's legs, and leisurely sucks him off. The TV screen is blank, though Yukio can't remember which of them turned it off, so the room is dark. Too dark for the screen to reflect what Yukio looks like, head thrown back against the couch cushion, fingers curling desperately in Ryouta's hair, but the thought makes him moan loudly anyway. 

"You've been so desperate lately," Ryouta murmurs, his voice rough, as he pulls off Yukio's cock and strokes it instead. "There's this look in your eyes—like you're wild and hungry. I wish you could see yourself right now."

That does it. Yukio comes with a shout, arching off the couch. Ryouta opens his mouth and shuts his eyes and exactly the right moment, humming with satisfaction. It doesn't occur to Yukio until later, when he's grabbing a wet towel to wipe Ryouta's face clean, that it was deliberate. That Ryouta _knew_ he'd come, and probably knew exactly why. 

He groans to himself, looking up to meet his own eyes in the bathroom mirror. Ryouta is unnaturally observant, and it doesn't just apply to sports. He knows what Yukio wants and he's probably—testing the waters, or something. Figuring out how quick it'll be to get Yukio off (based on the current evidence: _very_ ) and how badly he wants it (the answer is probably obvious: _desperately_ ).

Ryouta is lying on the couch, looking immensely pleased with himself, when Yukio gets back. Yukio resists the urge to just throw the towel in Ryouta's face, because he knows that he's just being defensive, because he's embarrassed. So he has a thing for mirrors. A kink. Whatever. 

He sits down on the couch beside Ryouta and reaches for the nape of his neck, dragging blunt nails across the warm skin there. Ryouta shudders with pleasure, and it makes Yukio feel a little less self-conscious.

 

* * *

   


Of course, when Ryouta finally _does_ bring it up, he isn't subtle about it at all.

He opens the door to let Yukio into his apartment and jumps him then and there, grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him inside. Yukio barely has the time to take his shoes off before Ryouta has him pinned against the wall, kissing him hard. 

"I wanna fuck you," Ryouta murmurs, his hands gently resting on the sides of Yukio's face. "Right now. Can I?"

Yukio leans in for another kiss, nodding hurriedly. The sex is always good when one or both of them is this desperate for it, and Ryouta is already gently tugging at his clothes, waiting for permission before actually pulling anything off. 

The moment Ryouta _has_ the permission, however, he pushes Yukio's jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. He grabs a fistful of Yukio's shirt and tugs, guiding him to the bedroom. "Come with me."

Ryouta, despite being bigger than Yukio, doesn't usually manhandle him like this. It feels good, Yukio thinks, happy to let Ryouta lead him. 

They come to a stop when they're in Ryouta's bedroom. Standing in front of his full-length mirror. 

"Oh," Yukio breathes, because it's been so long that he's almost forgotten that Ryouta knows about this. 

Ryouta is bending to kiss the nape of Yukio's neck, then along his shoulder. "You can say no. You're allowed to say no if you don't want to, but I want to fuck you against my mirror, Yukio."

With a small shiver, Yukio meets Ryouta's eyes in the mirror. "Yeah. Please."

Ryouta kisses his shoulder again, then squeezes his hips. "I'll be right back, okay? Stay right here."

It's a little awkward, Yukio thinks, standing in front of the mirror and just staring at himself. His shirt's been pulled up a little so it exposes a bit of his stomach. Ryouta's managed to undo his fly, but hasn't gotten any further. Yukio's hair is already a little messy and his face is a little flushed. A little messy, he supposes, and he idly thinks about how he's looking forward to Ryouta making a bigger mess of him. 

He bites back a curse at the thought, and then Ryouta is back, leaving their bottle of lube and a wrapped condom on the edge of his bed so they're in easy reach when he needs them. He loops his arms around Yukio from behind, kissing the side of his neck and then nudging him, until he looks at himself in the mirror. 

"I'm going to take your clothes off," Ryouta murmurs into his ear, and Yukio can not only feel the brush of lips against his ear but he can _see_ it. He watches Ryouta, face heating as those beautiful eyes stare right back at him through their reflection. 

His shirt comes off first, then his pants, before Ryouta undresses himself too. They wrap their arms around each other, naked and hard and desperate, turning to kiss each other. They _do_ look good together, just like this. Ryouta is as gorgeous as always, his long fingers trailing over Yukio's skin as he slides a hand down to wrap around his cock.

"Fuck, Ryouta," Yukio gasps, head falling back against his shoulder as Ryouta strokes him slowly.

"Mm, you like that." Ryouta kisses his hair, the shell of his ear. "Look at yourself, Yukio. I want you to watch."

Sucking in a shuddering gasp, Yukio forces his eyes open. He can see the pleasure written clearly on his face, and he wonders if this is what Ryouta sees every time they're together like this. He wonders if Ryouta knows that the pink tinge to his cheeks means that he loves this, that the way his lips shine from being bitten mean that he's trying to hold back a moan. 

"Let me hear you moan," Ryouta murmurs and Yukio does. He lets out a desperate whine because Ryouta _does_ know him. Same as he knows Ryouta, knows what his expressions mean. They've been together for long enough that they've learned each other well and the very thought makes his heart pound.

"Lean over," Ryouta tells him. "Hands on either side of the mirror. Legs apart. I want you to watch, okay?"

Yukio does as Ryouta asks, biting down on his lip as he feels slick fingers probing at his entrance. Ryouta pushes a finger into him slowly, murmuring a reminder to open his eyes. Yukio does, not looking at himself but at Ryouta, over his shoulder, who isn't watching him, but is frowning in concentration. He slides another hand into Yukio and frowns a little harder as he curls his fingers experimentally, then scissors.

With a gasp, Yukio balls his hands into fists against the wall, on either side of the mirror. Ryouta fucks him slowly with two fingers and it's not enough, it's not even close to being enough, but maybe that's the point. Yukio can see the way Ryouta's gaze will flick over to him, watching his expression closely. 

Ryouta adds a third finger, then drags his fingers over Yukio's prostate, slowly but firmly. Yukio has to clamp a hand over his mouth to muffle his shout and it means one less hand against the wall to hold himself up. He pitches forward, but Ryouta's arm is around him in an instant, pulling him close, keeping him upright. 

"I've got you," Ryouta tells him, breath hot against Yukio's burning skin, holding his gaze through the mirror. 

"Need you," Yukio pants, and Ryouta nods, slowly pulling his fingers out and grabbing for the condom. 

This time, Ryouta presses him against the mirror, the cool surface of it making Yukio hiss with surprise. Ryouta strokes his side gently, murmuring an apology, but then he's inside Yukio, thrusting gently. Yukio moans, and his breath fogs the mirror up. 

Ryouta is gentle with him, slowly pulling him back, far enough away from the mirror that he can see them both. They're both flushed, and Yukio is a little embarrassed at how clearly the pleasure plays out across his face until he sees that the same applies to Ryouta. They're watching each other, panting softly, and Ryouta's fingers wrap around Yukio's cock again, pumping slowly. 

Soon, the gentle pace just isn't enough. Yukio bears back against Ryouta's thrusts with soft, breathy moans. Ryouta picks up his pace, until Yukio has to brace himself against the wall again, until even that isn't enough and Ryouta is pressing him into the mirror, fucking him against it desperately. 

"You're so gorgeous like this," Ryouta is panting into his ear, gripping Yukio's hips tightly and thrusting. "I'm glad I get to keep you to myself like this, but—fuck, Yukio, I want the world to see. I want to say, _look at my boyfriend, we look so fucking good together_ —"

"Ryouta," Yukio moans as he comes, splashing across the mirror. "Fuck."

"Yes," Ryouta gasps, fucking him hard until he comes too. "Yes, yes, yes, _yes_."

They both lean against the mirror for a moment, catching their breaths. Yukio covers Ryouta's hand with his own, squeezing gently.

"You said _my boyfriend_ ," he murmurs. 

"Yeah." Ryouta kisses the nape of Yukio's neck. "My boyfriend. Mine." 

Perhaps Ryouta doesn't realise it's the first time the word's come up. Or perhaps he's just playing it off like it's no big deal. Knowing his boyfriend, Yukio thinks to himself with a smile, both are just as likely.

"Yours," Yukio agrees, squeezing Ryouta's hand again. "…I got your mirror dirty, I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologise," Ryouta murmurs, resting his chin on Yukio's shoulder. "I wanted you to. And, you know. If I didn't want you to come all over my mirror, I wouldn't have fucked you against it."

Yukio snorts quietly, grinning. Ryouta pulls him backwards, guiding him to the bed, and Yukio gladly goes. Ryouta throws his condom out and lies down, with Yukio in his arms.

"We should clean up," Yukio says, even though he doesn't particularly feel like moving. "I mean, your mirror—"

"—Can wait," Ryouta finishes for him. "Right now, I just want to cuddle my boyfriend."

So Ryouta _is_ being deliberate about it, Yukio realises with a small grin. He relaxes into the warm body against him, shutting his eyes. 

He feels soft lips against his forehead, then his cheek, then his ear. "What are you smiling about?" 

"Just thinking," Yukio murmurs, not opening his eyes, "about how much I like my boyfriend. I—like you a lot." 

_Like_ isn't really the word for it, and Yukio knows it. He cracks an eye open and judging by the look on Ryouta's face, he knows it too. 

Ryouta beams at him, in a way that makes Yukio feel ridiculous about ever worrying about weighing him down. They're equals in this. Looking at Ryouta, Yukio knows that much.

"I like you too," Ryouta replies, pressing a light kiss to his lips. 

It might not be the right word for it, but it makes Yukio's heart soar all the same.


End file.
